


Sick Burn Bro!!

by synfull



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synfull/pseuds/synfull
Summary: a fic exploring my version of steve, billy, and syn. as well as how they react to and treat syn. incomplete, and i'll likely never complete this, but it's longer than what i usually write when it comes to personal works.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Sick Burn Bro!!

**Author's Note:**

> was going to write another billy lenz/syn fic, but i found this in my docs. writing from my stranger things phase, though i'm likely never going to complete this. figured it'd be nice to post it here for people to see, whoever out there actually reads my stuff.

Shi Ning likes History, loves it. Get him started and he’ll rave on and on about the cold War, the Japanese Occupation of his country of origin, a little bit about politics and a dash of Reagan; the obscure facts he’s gleaned from various books from when he was a child till now(he never claimed he was good at U.S History, just bits and pieces of global History).

 _Now_ now, as he fidgets in his seat in a humid classroom listening to Mr. Bodelli drawl on and on _and on_ about how “back in his day, kids worked for what they wanted”. He’s waiting for Steve to return his note, give him a reply on whether or not he wanted to spend recess with the brunet.

A note that reads, as follows, in handwriting that Steve admits is strangely adorable.

_Recess, cafeteria._

_Usual spot._

_Y/N?_

_P.S. Mr. Bowlcut is fucking boring._

_Save me._

_— S_

When the reply takes more than a few minutes to arrive, he wonders if the Brandon fellow whose shoulder he tapped on threw his note, or if he gave it to the wrong person. Touch wood, if he gave it to fucking Billy Hargrove of all people

It’s not like the class hated his guts, but they certainly didn’t think very highly of _the migrant_ —a term very often said in a tone laced in either short-lived intrigue or annoyance when referring to him—and there’s no denying they tend to take a jab at his nationality and lack of solid national identity at times.

He chews on his pen in slight frustration, wonders if it’s because his name sounds so foreign that people are so quick to dislike him.

Syn, as he’s known as by close friends like Steve, often struggles to explain himself to his classmates. Sometimes he’s Filipino and others Latino, but the process hardly ever differs and he always has to correct them. He’s Asian, and what follows when they hear of his birth country is a momentary look of understanding and a collective “Oooh”. Syn knows better, knows that it’s really just misunderstanding. So he never goes beyond that and a simple “I’m Peranakan.” like he expects them to figure it out themselves(which he doesn’t care for, what they do is far from his business).

He isn’t left to stew in his thoughts forever, as someone to his right taps his shoulder. His attention is drawn to an outstretched arm covered in healing scars and some bruises, unmistakably Hargrove’s.

The thing is, Brandon hadn’t given his note to Billy, yet it ended up in Billy’s hands anyway. There’s a shit-eating grin and an almost sinister “You fags planning a lil’ date in my territory, Syn?”

Billy is met with an irritated glare from those brown eyes he swears got darker, but he doesn’t give two hoots whether or not he’s “allowed” to call him Syn. After all, who’s going to stop him? The trashy metalhead brute easily overpowers Syn, as far as he’s concerned. It’s a silly personal rule of Syn’s, and Billy obeys no one but himself.

Syn merely snatches the note out of his hand impatiently with a huff. He was hoping to get more of a rise out of the chubby boy, but perhaps he could pester him in other ways on other days.

Much to poor Billy’s dismay, Syn is saved by the shrill, unnerving shriek of the bell signalling the lesson’s end and recess’ beginning. Pity, he was planning to annoy Syn with a spit-covered paper ball or two.

* * *

Steve and Syn normally sit close to the cafeteria entrance. Not close enough for preppy brats to dump food on their heads, but close enough for them to make a run for it when need be, whatever the reason.

Today is different, though. Billy and his ever-rotating posse have taken their seats, despite that smarmy bastard and his lackeys being more than aware that this was their table, likely out of spite.

There’s a certain malicious glimmer in Billy’s eyes as he makes brief eye contact with Syn as the two searched for somewhere else to sit.

The audacity.

Steve’s found a spot at the very back of the cafeteria with more than enough room for the both of them, which puts Syn at ease as he breaks eye contact. The previous occupants had clearly not finished with their food or conversation, but stood up and left for a table adjacent despite there being ample space for all of them.

Ever since Billy took over Steve’s throne, people were doing more than simply avoiding Steve. Bolder and louder were they with their blatant disrespect whenever they could get away with it. Neither Syn nor Steve found the school population’s avoidance of them as if they were the plague very troubling, however.

On some days Jonathan and Nancy would join their table, perhaps out of guilt, but today they were nowhere to be seen. Whether or not they were present made no difference, it would’ve been more awkward anyway.

They’d been sitting there in awkward silence because nothing of importance had happened recently that either wanted to bring up, until Steve let out a nervous cough that pierced the still atmosphere between the two. What follows is a question Steve poses that surprises Syn.

* * *

“So, you’re,” Steve stumbles to get the words out of his throat, “You like guys? You’re gay?”

Steve receives a certain dumbfounded look, as if him willingly receiving handjobs on multiple occasions from the bushy-browed boy beside him was somehow not gay. Not that he’s against it, he states, he’s enjoyed Syn’s services but he isn’t gay himself.

He feels like he’s offended Syn on some level with that last comment, but Syn cuts him off before he can add another comment.

“Eh,” Syn shrugs, swirling the tea in his bottle. “Not really. I mean, I kinda am, I guess. I like both guys and gals. I just… I’m not a big fan of girls. Always left a sour taste in my mouth. What with my mum and all, and shitty dating history.”

“Like, y’know. Girls as friends are fine and dandy. Maybe I can fuck ‘em if I like ‘em enough, but romantic interests? Nah. Nah, dude. I just can’t.” Syn picks at the lump of a sad excuse for mashed potato with his spoon.

A tiny _oh_ escapes Steve’s lips. He’s confused, and tries to wrap his head around it but maybe it’s too early in the day to understand all this crap.

“Ah’ get it if you think it’s weird, or whatever. Always get weird looks and everybody’s all exasperated ‘Just pick one!’’s and I’m always like, ‘I would if I could ya’ fuckin cockstick!’”

The wit that comes so easily to Syn earns a chuckle from Steve, especially when he hears “cockstick”.

“I don’t think it’s weird, I just… I’m struggling to get it.”

“There’s really nothing much to have to get ‘bout it, Stevie. If I like a girl, I like a girl. If I like a boy, I like a boy.”

Instead of clearing the confusion, the statement only served to confuse Steve _even more_ , evident in how he furrowed his brows at the minimalist explanation.

"Well yeah but then...how do you decide? Not telling you to pick one, but it’s probably not easy. I know I'd have a hard time choosing who to go with."

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying I like multiple genders at one time, no no no. It's more of..." Syn rests his head on his palms, looking around and thinking. "Right, so you like girls, no? It's uh... Basically that. Normally you'd like one at a time, or you have crushes, shit like that. So for me it's the same, at any one time I can crush on someone for a while and it's either a guy or a girl. It's like... Being straight, but like, I don't care so I'm open to either. "

Steve poses another question, poor boy is stumped, about what Syn would do if he had a crush on a girl one day and a boy the next.

“Crushes are rare for me, man. I hardly ever get anything besides infatuations, purely because of looks. I just let those go away on their own.”

A nod.

“Put it this way, your example is pretty much just like, a guy who has crushes on two girls at once. Gay or not, that’s a dilemma that doesn’t involve gender. It’s like, about your logic and emotional maturity.”

Steve runs his hand through his hair, a stray strand falling into his eyes.

“I mean the crux of it is... Well, I just go through the motions in life and I like who I like. It's basically being straight and all the dumbass emotions that come with it, but you like both."

That was surprisingly easier to understand, kind of. Steve got that at least.

Syn lets out a sigh and relaxes his posture. “Love is hard, dude. Haven’t had a crush in a bit, but maybe I got one on that Hardgruff guy or something. But he’s a shithead to me, with his stupid aviators and his faux leather jacket, trying to act tough and shit. So I dunno.”

That visibly puts Steve on edge, and Syn’s not entirely sure _why_ he said it. It was just an absent-minded comment that escaped his lips, he’d forgotten momentarily that “that Hardgruff guy” was the same guy who made it a point to make every waking moment of Steve’s life—school or otherwise—as miserable as he possibly could.

“Hardgruff? You h-had,” Steve sputters as he tries to recover from nearly choking on his own spit, “You had a crush on… _Billy_.”

He says the name in such a low deadpanned tone that it makes Syn regret his choice of words even more. So he scrambles to add that maybe it was just a dumb infatuation, and maybe it wasn’t even a real crush at all.

“Look, man. I dunno, I really don't. He's an asshole, fucking douche. Spilled soup on me and laughed, tried to trip me, punched me a few times. Don't know what the fuck it is, but it always makes me excited to see him. But I think it's a lot of fear, too, whenever I see him I get scared and antsy and I wanna get out quick.”

“I’m not judging you,” Steve bit out. “Just surprised, that’s all. He’s such a piece of shit! B-but, you know, maybe you just see something in him that makes you like him. Like you said, love is weird.”

He picks at his food with narrowed eyes(unbeknownst to him his face has reddened slightly) and gritted teeth. Of course his only best friend would fall for Billy Fuckin’ Hargrove, everybody does. Everybody. The guy’s such an actor, brilliant little bitch needs to get smashed in the face with an Oscar or two. Has everybody under his grimey paws, from majority of the student population of Hawkins High to the teaching staff to even _Shi Ning himself_. The toughest, roughest, gentlest, slightly intimidating, often very adorable—

And Steve stops his train of thought right there.

And he doesn’t think about it any further, as much as he wants to.

Syn takes a sip of his tea before stating, “I swear, that Harfuck makes an entire show out of beating you to a pulp, Stevie.”

Likely a statement intended to show he sympathised with Steve, but really, it only served as a reminder to him of how weak he was in comparison to the local bully.

“The beatings suck, yeah.” Steve mutters. “Just… It’s just like that, really. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming ever since he stepped foot in this shithole. Always showing off and trying to one-up people, assert his dominance. Weird power fantasy shit. But it’s mostly verbal, even when you’re not around, so that’s something.”

Steve’s no wimp, no pansy ass who can’t handle himself. He can throw a punch, or several, and he knew what he’d have to do with his fists and where to land his punches, make the poor sod run off with his tail in-between his legs if he hasn’t already passed out from the pain.

Except Billy isn’t another poor sod looking for a fight he knows he can’t win just to impress a girl, nor is he Tommy pushing his limits. Billy just isn’t someone anybody Steve’s age with any semblance of a sane mind would want to go against when given the option not to. If even Syn, the roughest guy Steve(and some of the cohort) knows, can’t last long against Billy, who in this school can?

“Guess whether or not I like the son of a bitch doesn’t matter, and if I had any say in the heart’s affairs I’d rather go after Tommy. Lesser of two evils, the whole thing. ‘Least Tommy can’t beat the shit out of me even if he tried, and it’s not like he’s that cruel, he’s kinda cute. Easy to fluster.”

Steve is surprised to hear that, he’s not thought about Tommy’s behaviour beyond the one incident he’d been backed up against his car because Tommy thought it’d be smart to sneer at him for getting his ass handed to him by Byers of all people.

“Huh, yeah, suppose he is easy to fluster. But I can handle myself just fine, Syn. I despise it, but I’ll just hang on till grad.”

"Good luck with that, bastard's like shit under ya' Nikes,” Syn scoffs. “Swear on mah' dead Ma. Always followin' ya, haggling ya, he'd make a good loanshark but that means I'd have to work with him. I'd hate for that."

He sounds like a pirate in the first part and a mob boss in the next, which is what Steve points out. Syn merely responds as if he’s not heard the remark, how easy Tommy was and how he’d tip the brunet just for taking the dork’s cock in his mouth.

“Woah there, sex god. Didn’t need to know that shit about my used-to-be best friend.” Steve replies, hands up in the air jokingly.

Syn chuckles with a tone that isn't all too in jest, "You're sort-of right about one of those examples. And hey, what can I say, I'm a man of oversharing. Did you know Tommy's verbal as hell? He didn't even last half an hour before he got so fidgety he had to cum in me, fuckin' cried a lil' too. Kinda cute."

Steve laughs. An honest to God laugh, the kind that makes Syn warm on the inside because he’s happy to have made someone chuckle at the stupid shit he’s said.

“Gee, Lee. Didn’t know you were a pirate! And to reiterate, I really don’t want to hear about you and Tommy’s sexcapades. Really, I’m fine.”

Syn titters, goes on about how he used to have an abundance of pirates in his home country. He wonders aloud what’s happened to them in recent years, in his absence.

But his best friend doesn’t let up on the Tommy thing. “You’re telling me so many things about Tommy in bed, I’m sure way more than he wants his old best friend to know. I’m like, a casual observer of some really weird sex cult when it comes to your stories. I know for a fact I don’t want him knowing as much about me.”

A bushy brow is cocked, and there’s a mischievous gleam in Syn’s eyes. The kind that accompanies his lips that curl into a cheeky grin.

“Now, have I?” Syn purrs. “I may or may not have mentioned things about you to Tommy in bed, you know.”

“S-seriously?!”

Steve is...shocked. His interest is piqued but not necessarily mad. He knows that maybe he doesn’t want to know what Syn said, but the curiosity is just so overwhelming. He succumbs, and asks.

“Nothing much, I just said you were cute. Hung like a horse, also. Other than small talk, he mostly just wanted to know if I was dating you—for what reason, he wouldn’t say.”

“I am not “hung like a horse”! I’m not that big!!”

The reaction is instant. Syn pulling himself back, as if the sheer intensity of his guffaw was enough to push him so far, and a slap on his thigh as he tries to talk.

“Christ, Stevie! Relax, won’t’cha? T’was a joke, just wanted to see how he’d react.”

And react he did, Syn adds as he elbows Steve. He was reportedly jealous until the boy clarified he was simply pulling his leg.

“Good, jeez. But why tell him I’m cute, ‘cause I think from what you’ve told me about Tommy in bed, he’d be cuter by default.”

“Fine, Stevie Wevie.”  
(he says that nickname with an almost mocking tone, Steve can’t tell if he’s sarcastic or genuine)

“Prefer me to call you hottie, then? Or perhaps you prefer hot stuff? Handsome stud?”

 _Stevie Wevie_ tries to play it off cool, dismisses it and says he doesn’t care what Syn uses. As long as it’s not “cute” or any variation of. But he does mind, dear God he does mind, so much. He knows Syn is trying to test him, not in the way Billy does, but a testing of the waters nonetheless. And it works, it makes Steve blush ever so slightly.

“Righty dokey, Handsome.”

He can’t take it anymore, if Syn went on any longer with those pet names he’s so damn sure he’d pop a boner right then and there.

“Okay, nevermind. I take it back, don’t call me that. just stick to Stevie. I-I didn’t realise—I didn’t realise you saying handsome like that would be...”

“Hm? It’s what, pretty boy?”

The smug bastard has his face on his palms now, staring at Steve so hard he swears he feels like Syn’s boring holes into his skull.

He’s trying so hard, so damn hard, to regain his composure. Repeats “It’s nothing” more times than necessary to the point where it sounds like an excerpt of a mantra.

Syn won’t give up though, if there’s anything his years of being a henchman of his gang has taught him, it’s how to pursue your target relentlessly. Hound them down and wear them down till you’ve gotten what you came for.

“Something is up,” Syn neatly slides Steve’s tray underneath his(he tends to do that when he’s finished his food) while keeping his sly, narrowed eyes trained on him. “It’s quite clear, Harrington. I’ve known you for a while, enough to know that you’re nervous. Flustered.”

“Fl-flustered? Me? No way. No way! I’m not nervous!”  
  
“You aren't flustered? You trailed off, something about you and how you felt about my callin' you handsome.”


End file.
